Black Ops (3)
Some scenes, including Hwang Geon-wook's commute, had to be reshot.
The setup changed from a Mercedes convertible to arriving and leaving in a Rolls-Royce Phantom.
"Should we give the sponsored Benz to Yoo Jeong-ah or Cha Do-jin, then?"
Song Jeong-woo shook his head after a moment's thought at assistant director Kim Hyun-tae's question.
"Nah. Give those two a McLaren and a Ferrari. Lamborghini to Lee Seo-hyeon."
"...Lee Seo-hyeon plays a grad student, and you're giving her a Lamborghini?"
"Why not? A goddess of the engineering department zipping around on a Lambo—pure romance, right?"
"..."
"Woo Si-yeon isn't even a real grad student anyway. Riding a Lambo makes her seem more intriguing, don't you think?"
"Eh, viewers will probably just think she's a rich girl from a wealthy family. What about the Bugatti?"
"That'll be Professor Hwang Geon-wook's secondary car. Rolls-Royce Phantom for business, Bugatti for private schedules. Perfect balance."
"Come to think of it, the sub car is way pricier than the daily driver."
"Is it? I thought the Phantom was the most expensive."
"Yeah. The Bugatti costs several times more."
"Whoa, we'll really have to handle that one with care. Couldn't give it to any other actor besides Seo-hoon anyway."
What if an actor scratched it while driving?
Only the professor's cherished successor could survive the damage claim onslaught.
"What about the rest of the sponsored Benzes?"
Benz had provided six high-end models in total for this ambitious project by Song Jeong-woo and Kim Sang-hee, starring top stars like Jeong Seo-hoon.
Jeong Seo-hoon's personal use of the Benz Sprinter had helped smooth the sponsorship.
"Give one each to Chae Ji-hyun, Han Seo-rin, and Im Seo-rin for now."
"Chae Ji-hyun aside, the other two are undergrads driving cars over 200 million won. Won't viewers call it unrealistic?"
"The days of dragons rising from the slums are over. Korea University these days is full of kids from rich families."
"Full circle back to realism."
"Exactly. If something seems off, it's probably accurate. Look at Professor Lee Se-jong—owns a string of cars worth hundreds of millions. Hwang Geon-wook from the US rolling up in a Phantom and Bugatti? That's real-life reference."
"Now that you mention it, Hwang Geon-wook is positioned as a younger version of Professor Lee Se-jong."
And so, reshoots began—but a problem arose.
"It's a Phantom, so there should be a chauffeur driving. That's a car for the owner to ride in the back."
Kim Sang-hee's point was flawlessly valid, plunging Song Jeong-woo into thought.
"Gotta find an extra for the driver again. Should we postpone the reshoots? Waiting around for extras will take forever."
Jeong Seo-hoon chimed in casually.
"It's a role with no lines anyway, right? What if Tae-soo hyung does it?"
"Seo-hoon's manager?"
"Yeah. He drives large vehicles like a pro, so I can trust him with the wheel."
"Hey, hey, hold up. You want me to play the chauffeur?"
Ha Tae-soo waved his hands in flustered protest, but Song Jeong-woo stroked his chin, turning serious.
"Hmm... The Phantom's so massive—length, width, height—it's not easy to drive. Extras would be intimidated too. But Tae-soo handles the Sprinter like a champ, so no worries there."
"Aigoo, PD-nim, I'm confident in driving, but acting? Total disaster. Please spare me."
"Come on, Tae-soo. A true manager stands in front of the camera with their actor sometimes. Why pass up this fun opportunity?"
"It's embarrassing..."
"We'll pay supporting actor rates. Better than just watching Seo-hoon act—drive a few times and pocket 800 for it. Profitable, no?"
The panic in Ha Tae-soo's eyes wilted rapidly.
"E-eight hundred?"
"Fifty per episode, total 800. You know reruns and third runs bring in steady fees too."
"You're serious? About the pay?"
"I don't joke about money. Seo-hoon knows best."
Jeong Seo-hoon nodded in agreement.
"You promised 200 for one audition when I first went to the station with noona's help."
"Oh, right, I remember."
"Do it. It'll be a great experience. Managers end up on camera in variety shows eventually—might as well get fans used to your face now."
"Got it. I'll do it."
And just like that, the chauffeur casting was solved on the spot.
Ha Tae-soo always kept spare clothes in the Sprinter, including a suit.
After makeup and white gloves, he looked every bit the young chauffeur from a wealthy household.
"Suits you perfectly. Let's head to the starting point."
The scene: driving from outside the school gate along the winding roads to the engineering lab.
Ha Tae-soo did two full round trips.
Once for drone aerial shots, once with camera cars front and back for level tracking—ensuring no camera cars appeared in the aerials.
Jeong Seo-hoon, arriving for his first day in the Rolls-Royce Phantom, steps out indifferently and enters the building.
Chauffeur Ha Tae-soo smoothly pulls away without getting out.
Song Jeong-woo, monitoring, let out a gasp.
"Whoa, just swapping one car changes the whole vibe like this."
"It's not just any car. Why do you think the Fast & Furious series always packs such a punch? Nonstop killer rides are a huge part."
"I know, I know. Props are key to visuals. But directing's my main gig."
"While we're at it, cram all the leads' commutes and school arrivals into episode 1's opening."
"Already planning that."
Thus, Song Jeong-woo shot every lead actor arriving in supercars like McLarens and Ferraris, without exception.
He even filmed supporting undergrads commuting in two-seater Benzes.
"In editing, start with Benzes, ramp up the tiers, and cap with the Phantom."
He could already see it clearly.
Home viewers' eyes widening at the sponsorship scale unseen in typical dramas.
How much did this drama's budget cost?
Engineering tuition's insanely expensive these days—only rich kids get in?
Engineering profs must rake it in—that checks out.
The actors' stunning visuals were a given, but filming in real top-university labs would deliver overwhelming set presence too.
A massive scale unseen in home dramas, on every front.
"Romantic Engineering Lab..."
Kim Sang-hee seamlessly picked up Song Jeong-woo's absentminded mutter as he pondered directing concepts.
"A grad school bursting with glamorous dreams and hotties—seniors, juniors, peers, profs. A Seoul University lab that exists only in dramas, not reality."
"But watching Korea University, it doesn't feel like Seoul U's just fictional."
"I think the same seeing Seo-hoon and his circle. How do people like that exist in real life?"
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
82 hours now?
Jeong Seo-hoon glanced at his watch after quietly washing up.
82 hours without a wink of sleep.
A normal person would have a splitting headache or passed out long ago.
Yet his body felt no fatigue, vision sharp and clear, mind pristine like a semiconductor rinsed in ultrapure water.
Jeong Seo-hoon was currently testing his physical limits firsthand.
Want to measure my strength properly too.
Hoisting a barbell over 300kg overhead took zero effort.
To test higher, he'd need to hit a gym, but public displays like that were out—unnecessary attention was a pass.
Not worried about national labs or intel agencies snooping; just smart to hide traits that didn't need revealing—for long-term gains.
Couldn't measure strength limits; stamina test ongoing past three days.
Better avoid checkups just in case. Who knows what data it'd spit out.
Superhuman strength, boosted stamina, rapid healing. Plus, hyper-focused senses on demand, like accelerating time.
What’s the comet's goal in changing me like this?
Is there a goal at all?
Or just random phenomenon without reason?
Breathing in the dawn air, Jeong Seo-hoon eyed the restricted line at the mountain base.
If they didn't move the comet—or couldn't—fragments or traces must remain there.
Body enhancement, sync with Rashid's world, visual landscapes and audio waves from the lens power.
He yearned to reach the source ASAP.
Why him? Mere coincidence in the process? He wanted answers to it all.
Suddenly, voices echoed.
-What will you do after discharge, Lieutenant?
-What after the war ends, Colonel?
-Brigadier, got plans for postwar livelihood? Pensions alone won't cut it—you'll get burned.
Rashid always gave the same reply.
Remember? First long vacation in years, months off in the rear. Every night, theater.
Don't recall a single plot, but the trance-like immersion, time vanishing—still vivid.
At least in those moments, I forgot frontline deaths, enemies I killed, comrades I failed...
Sleep surged.
Not drowsiness, but sleep itself approaching.
Body hadn't hit limit.
Rather, like Rashid's world handing him another invite.
Jeong Seo-hoon smiled at his wet reflection in the mirror.
What’s this? Always yanking me abruptly without permission, now playing gentleman?
How to play it.
Savoring the mischievous dilemma, he accepted.
Wiping his face, he lay on the latex mattress, arms pillowed.
Checked time, closed eyes—and an unseen host politely yanked his consciousness far away.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
The war halted absurdly, like a lie.
The sudden armistice treaty stunned soldiers bleeding on the frontlines.
Was the war really over? Could they go home? Soldiers wailed, cheered, mourned sacrifices.
Retired Brigadier Rashid skipped his empty hometown for his prior vacation spot.
Hid his war hero name, joined a small troupe, learned theater from the ground up.
After a year solidifying basics, Rashid finally took the stage.
No lines, no spotlight—just Nameless Soldier 1 dying in a corner.
Yet no frontline glory matched that fleeting seconds' fulfillment.
Six months later.
Always a corpse prop or static guard, Rashid got his first moving extra: a boisterous, singing drunkard passing by—no name, no lines.
Still, he rehearsed paths meticulously, vividly simulating scenes in his mind with pure focus.
But he never made it onstage.
Old subordinates found him.
"General, recall orders came down."
What did Rashid's face look like in their hesitant eyes?
Jeong Seo-hoon desperately wanted to see—but the projection was too small to discern.
The nation now requires a great war hero.
Fresh cannon fire shattered the brief peace.
The truce crumpled like scrap paper; war reignited.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
The unseen world's invitation courteously returned Jeong Seo-hoon's consciousness.
Only a dozen seconds had passed.
Bolting upright, he shuddered.
The final synced emotion—Rashid's—was ravenous thirst.
To quench it, he madly pulled out scripts.
Illegal, Su-jang-go, Haegeuk, The Hunter, this drama—all of them.
He'd memorized every line, stage direction, punctuation—but it wasn't enough for this thirst.
Like an addict, he flipped pages furiously, devouring text.
Fingers trembling, sweeping word clusters into his glassy eyes.
As the last script ended, the clinging chill eased somewhat.
Touching his still-fevered forehead, he spotted a notification from 10 minutes ago.
He called; it rang six times before pickup.
Clearing throat, perfect delay to feign non-eagerness.
"-Not asleep? Didn't expect a reply this late."
"Script practice over the phone? Right now."
"-Script practice... over the phone?"
Yoo Jeong-ah sounded flustered at first, then brightened.
"-Sure. Can't sleep anyway—perfect timing. Let's do it."
Three hours? Four? Maybe more?
Jeong Seo-hoon and Yoo Jeong-ah rehearsed scripts all night over the phone.
Trading lines from the current drama, dipping into Illegal's Lee Jin-wook and Hwang Sun-hye, Yoo Jeong-ah subbing for Chae Ji-hyun in Su-jang-go.
Even impromptu sticky love whispers between Yoon Se-hyun and Choi Ye-ju from The Hunter.
Yoo Jeong-ah hated to hang up but surrendered to crashing sleep.
"-That was amazing. Let's do this often."
"Me... too."
Jeong Seo-hoon slowly steadied his breath.
His face reflected on the dark phone screen.
There—the expression of Rashid receiving the orders he'd craved so badly.